What Others Read Of
by A Paper Moon
Summary: It was a typical textbook romance: a boy, a girl, and love. But, what if the boy waited too long to find happily ever after? What if someone else came along and stole his princess? LCD: A One-Shot. Pairings: You'll See.


**Disclaimer/Notes: **Any and all characters from _La Corda D'oro: Primo Passo _do not belong to me. They are the property of the amazingly talented, Kure Yuki-san. The song _You and I Both _belongs to Jason Mraz and his "golden pipes." If I have any errors in names, places, and/or spelling-slash-grammatical issues, please **let me know**. Or, if you have questions, comments, or concerns, please tell me. If that's all that needs to be addressed, please enjoy. :D

-

_what others_** read of**

**-**

_Was it you who spoke the words, that things would happen,  
__But, not to me?  
__Oh, things are going to happen naturally.  
__And taking your advice,  
__I'm looking on the bright side,  
__And balancing the whole thing.  
__Oh, but often times those words get tangled up in lines.  
__And the bright light turns to night.  
__Until the dawn it brings,  
__Another day to sing about that magic that was,  
__You and me._

-

The first time he saw her, she looked a bumbling idiot making her way down the hallways; her eyes scrunched in a bizarre manner as she tried to make out her schedule. If the etiquette his mother had taught him had taken a moment to resurface, he would have realized that a proper gentleman would have assisted her in finding her classes, but, the decorum and politeness were gone for now; their absence replaced with distaste and impertinence. So, he opted for standing in a looming shadow to watch her pass by; his amber eyes scrutinizing her every move. When she later slipped—like the brainless fool he took her for—he had to fight the urge to rush and collect her in his arms before she tumbled down the flight of stairs. With the impulse squelched, he viewed the scene with disgust: some green-haired guy was holding onto the redhead; her face flushed with something akin to embarrassment while the boy helped her recover her balance before gathering her fallen papers. They shared a small laugh and, with the chivalry that the hidden boy's mother wished he had, the soccer player guided the girl by her elbow in an impromptu tour of the building. The violinist's blood boiled at the show the other boy made of helping her, but, it wasn't his style to make a big deal out of something trivial with an unplanned outburst. So, instead, he picked up his case, turned on his heal, and walked rather quickly towards the practice halls; his mind set on rehearsing for a good four hours, or, until his mind felt more at ease.

One of the most memorable moments he had with her was during the summer getaway. He had been pacing in his room, his brain jumbled from the troubling thoughts that continuously plagued him. He glared at an innocent Vivaldi piece while his pointer finger plucked absentmindedly at the A string. When he paused, he could have sworn he heard music resonating from outside, but, he dismissed the idea—his mind was too far gone for stringing together coherent thoughts. So, minutes later, he was surprised to find out that, indeed, someone _was_ playing below his balcony in the warm, breezy air. From his perch behind the billowing curtains, he could make out a distinct head of red hair and a mahogany violin, one golden string glittering in the moon's light. She was swaying with some unheard rhythm while she closed her eyes to the world. The desires rose, once again at an inappropriate time, and, before he knew what was happening, his feet were moving in the direction of the veranda as he raised his instrument to the hallow juncture between his shoulder and neck. His right hand gripped the bow and brought it down gently upon metallic strings. In seconds, he was accompanying her as their heartstrings sang "their song."

During the competition, he grew impatient when he was forced to wait for her performances; they were something he looked forward to. After uncovering her untapped potential and talent, the redhead had blossomed into a full-fledged musician. The amount of passion and soul she placed with each and every song was enough for his heart rate to quicken and goosebumps to form. It was odd, and maybe over dramatic, but, he sometimes felt... _giddy_ at the prospect of hearing her play. Those emotions only exploded tenfold with each and every recital.

It wasn't long before he had her entire self memorized; from her flowing ginger-locks, to her expressive eyes, to the slight way she held herself and, how that posture differed from her everyday walk to her stance when she performed. They manner in which she spoke to strangers and they way she conversed with those she knew well. They smiles she gave her friends and the subtle tug of the lips she greeted him with. The early set-on nervousness he sensed in her when they were in the same room and, how that uneasiness ebbed away the longer he was there. He was a man of few words, but, there were words he often used to describe herself, himself, and the dizzy, unexplainable reactions he got to her company.

They spent time together before graduation, getting to know one another more and, soon, they realized that they were similar, yet different, in their hopes and dreams and goals. While she wanted to find a place for herself, he wanted to remove himself from the pre-established pedestal that his family's name had placed him upon. When he stated that he wanted to travel, she exclaimed with excitement that she too wished to explore the world. They bonded over their love for music and the arts in general; their friendship grew with each passing day. He took her to see a concert in the park and she invited him to teach a master class promoted by the Tokyo University of the Arts. He bought them tickets to the aquarium which she thanked him for with a kiss on the cheek—he blushed days later when he remembered the sensation that her lips brought to his face. They played together, once in a while, just to hear the harmonizing sounds they made. Though he felt that admitting the idea would be jinxing himself, he liked to think that she was becoming more comfortable with him and, in time, he would be able to confide his deepest feelings in her. Unfortunately, time was not on their side and, one night, while the two were dining at his home, his mother came in with an elegant looking letter. After reading the note twice, he sighed with resignation that he hoped he'd never have to feel. As his father told him on various occasions: "When the delegates call, you answer." It was to be, that after the concours and graduation and the moving-on of their lives, he would leave for Europe and, more specifically, Germany, to pursue his promising career in music that the royals provided him with.

The cerulean-haired man performed for thousands upon thousands of adoring fans and diplomats, yet, he could never regain the sensations that were provoked whenever he was close to her. He practiced for hours a day; his heart never being able to duplicate the fullness and satisfaction that came with her presence. His mother told often that, if he worked hard enough, he could find true happiness in his music—that was a lie. His dreams were filled with her sound and her soft voice and, on occasion, her smile. He would be there, on the expansive stage, his violin hanging gently by his side, and he would turn and see her standing a mere twenty feet away, a content and pleased grin on her delicate face. He called her frequently for the first month or so—and oddity for him—but, the calls from her slowly became few and far between. Though he'd told her that she could call him whenever she felt the need, when autumn faded away, winter passed, and spring finally set in, his phones no longer rang.

It was with a crushed heart on March sixth, that Tsukimori Len received a crisp, white envelope addressed to him in a penmanship he would always remember, and with it, the announcement he always saw coming but dreaded, nevertheless. The last time they had spoke—he couldn't even recall the date—she had spoken in an eager voice, that she and the pianist were going to see a performance by the Tokyo Symphony in a newly constructed concert hall. Even with the rage he had felt, he hadn't been able to stop himself from replying cheerfully that he was happy for her and hoped for her to have the best of times.

Now, the product of that previous date was staring him in the face in the form of black-inked calligraphy: _The Hillside Chapel Proudly Announces the Marriage of Tsuchiura Ryoutarou and Hino Kahoko on the Eleventh of March, This Current Year. Both parties hope you will join them for the festivities. _

He'd always know that it was only a matter of time before that green-haired man swooped in and stole his violinist from him. He honestly couldn't blame him; she was quite beautiful and thoughtful and caring and kind and warm and generous and intelligent and talented and passionate and... the list could go on and on. The practically mute man spoke little, but, when it came to his precious Kahoko, he could spend hours, no, days, no _years_ listing the endless attributes and wonderful characteristics that befell the redhead.

Tucked within the invitation was a short, handwritten note. He gingerly smoothed out the creased paper and allowed his eyes to take in the simple, few sentences.

_Tsukimori-kun,  
__I know this is unexpected; I love him. But, I love you too. I'll always love you more than you'll ever know. Please come.  
__- Hino Kahoko_

His heart stopped at her words; the words he'd longed to hear too many years before, when he'd had the chance to tell her yes, he loved her too. But, now was not the time to ponder the "could haves" and "should haves." Now was the time to call her and tell her that, even though he would be dying inside—his soul would be crumbling with every step she took down that aisle—he would come and support her and let her know that he would always love her as well.

Packing his suitcase, he spotted a picture taken in another time, another world, where a boy and a girl were in love; where two musicians felt searing, unending passion for their work and each other. Where the redheaded girl and the amber-eyed boy didn't end up on either side of the Earth, but, rather, _together_. In this world, the boy would have told the girl of his adoration for her and she would have hugged him tightly as she whispered sweet words in his ear. The boy would marry the girl and, together, they'd grow old until the time came when they were to leave this life and enter something entirely new. But, that was an alternate universe where dreams came to pass and true love ruled. In _this_ world—_his _world—the boy was forced to head back and watch the girl give herself to another boy—someone who wasn't him; someone who, he knew for sure, could never give her the carnal devotion _he_ could. However, his words were running short so, when the time came to congratulate the "newly weds," he would nod and smile and that would be the end of everything he'd ever envisioned and hoped for.

_Maybe, _he dejectedly thought_, in a different time and another place._

For now, he'd close his eyes and think of the future he could have shared with the girl that had captured his heart years ago; in a time when he had watched her walk like an absolute fool down the halls as she tried to find her classes.

-

_And it's okay, if you have to go away.  
__Oh, just remember, the telephones,  
__Well, they work both ways.  
__But if I never, ever hear them ring;  
__If nothing else, I'll think the bells inside  
__Have finally found you someone else and that's okay.  
__I'll remember everything you sang.  
__Because, you and I both loved,  
__What you and I spoke of and others just read of.  
__And if you could see me now—well, I'm almost finally out of...  
__Well, I'm almost finally, finally,  
__I'm finally out of words._

- You and I Both|**Jason Mraz**

* * *

Please drop a review if you have the time. Grazie! :D


End file.
